Not a Hero
by panickedfish
Summary: this time, the goddesses chose wrong.


**Not a Hero**

There was once a peaceful village in the land of Hyrule. It was built up on craggy rocks overlooking a large bay. A blond-haired youth who wore green clothes called this place his home. It was where he had lived all sixteen years of his life. His mother and father were no longer with him, but the townspeople had collectively adopted him, taking care to meet his needs in exchange for help in their small vegetable patches. The neighbourhood kids loved playing with the youth, who was the unofficial leader of their group. A boy of few words, the blond haired youth would often initiate games of hide and seek which would pass the time of long summer afternoons.

On one such day, when the sun was at its highest point in the sky, a bell rang out through the air. All of the children looked up in surprise; this bell was used for only one purpose—to announce a royal visit from the family of Hyrule. The boy grunted as his game was interrupted and then joined the rest of the children in the main square of the village to greet the newcomers. He got there just in time to see the Princess herself, sitting atop a noble brown horse. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon but once her mount stopped, her expression softened and she looked to those gathered around her. Her eyes met the gaze of the young boy's, and he quickly looked away.

The mayor of the village stepped into the square and bowed. He offered the Princess and her three armed guards refreshments after their journey. The Princess nodded and dismounted her horse gracefully. Just as her feet touched the ground, a loud horn rang out. This sound was very different from the lightheartedness of the bell when they were playing hide and seek. This new noise was not intended to get everyone's attention so much as to call for an attack. The horn blared again and the Princess's guards shouted for her to get back on her horse. Just as she was about to ride off, Bokoblins appeared as if from nowhere. They swarmed the square and before the young boy could register what was happening, he felt a great change in air pressure. A shadow loomed above and he felt the temperature drop. He raised his eyes to look at the cause for such a reaction. It was a giant winged monster, as grotesque as his darkest nightmares. He felt his blood turn to ice.

A villager screamed. A baby started crying. He heard weapons being drawn and he heard them being used on the defenceless villagers. Steel sliced flesh. The youth tore his eyes away from the flying monster to look at the Princess. She was surrounded by four Bokoblins, and more were on the way. The giant flying monster seemed to be biding its time, waiting for her to be subdued.

The blond youth stumbled as someone knocked into him. He picked up a sword from one of the fallen—villager or Bokoblin—he could not know, and parried the oncoming attack. He managed to dislodge his opponent and cast a look back to the Princess. Her guards had fallen after protecting her as best they could. Their blood pooled around her feet and the Princess fought even as her shoulders shook with pain. The Princess's desperate eyes searched and found his. The purple irises blazed when she noticed that he was all the way on the other side of the square.

The hero took a step towards her, but then a bloodcurdling scream that was cut off all too quickly sounded from his right. He looked down just as he felt some liquid spray onto his face. He wiped his face and saw what was staining the fabric of his green tunic. Blood.

The youth almost dropped his sword. He didn't think; he just turned and ran, blending into the stampede of his friends and family as they tried to escape from the attack. Such destruction could only be done by someone truly evil. The boy had heard the stories from the elders, and one name remained on his tongue and in the back of his head, as though it was imprinted there.

Ganondorf.

There was no time for the youth to stop and think clearly about what was happening. He was acting purely on instinct—and his instincts were to run away. He felt the whoosh of a cannonball as it soared within six feet of his head and smashed into the brick wall of a home on his right. Debris exploded, sending the young man flying to the left. Dazed, he looked up from the ground to see that the building behind him had caught fire. Sparks flew up from the thatched roof, and a cloud of black soot was blanketing the low-lying valley by the lake. He heard a crash and felt the earth shake beneath him as another nearby structure fell. He spat and tasted blood. His eyes watered from the dust and his throat felt like it was closing up. Somehow, he staggered to his feet and ran away from the chaos, his sweaty hand almost letting go of his stolen sword.

He tried to think clearly about what was happening but logic did him no good now. His mind was acting purely on self-preserving instinct. As he ran through the village, he heard the screams, cries, and clashes as the villagers fought back against the intruders. He smelled the seared flesh and found himself unable to stop the tears from flowing down his face. The youth's feet carried him along a path towards the undeveloped land where he and the other children used to play. Eventually, he reached a large cave on top of a rock outcropping overlooking the lake. The boy wedged himself in between the rocks, trying not to think about the dark insects that might be crawling all over him. He tried to calm his breathing and soothe his shaking.

The village was still burning. People were still dying. He wondered how the Princess was doing, but then shook himself. He mentally kicked himself for being unable to protect her. Somehow, that was what he thought to be expected of him. Something made him believe that he had a duty to defend her but this time he had come up way short. His shoulders shook and he was unable to stop the ragged gasps tearing themselves from his throat. He thought of the terrified faces and the vacant eyes of the village—his family—as they were slaughtered and was unable to stop crying and trembling.

The dull clashes of battle slowed. Fighting seemed more sporadic now. From his space backed into the rock, the boy saw that there were more flames. He felt despair, realizing that the village must have fallen. He thought again of the Princess. Suddenly, he heard a noise just outside the cave. The youth wedged himself further into the recesses of the cave and steadied his hand on the hilt of his sword. He realized now that it was the actually the sword of the village's smith—this was this man whom he had robbed. He was not worthy of such a weapon. But the blade felt substantial in his hand and it gave him strength.

The Bokoblin stepped into the cave. The young man stood up, taking care to blend in with the shadows of the cave. Surprise was on his side, and an ambush might be the only way he would defeat this scout. As soon as the creature was within striking distance, the teen took a deep breath and then lunged.

It was over quickly. The Bokoblin made no noise, save for the sound of its lifeless body hitting the stone floor of the cave. Then, the youth dropped the blade with a clatter. He sunk down to his knees and clasped his hands in his lap. He looked down, letting his long blond fringe cover his eyes. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. When he looked to the side, he saw the bloodied blade of his sword and a ragged sob escaped from his chest. He crawled back from the weapon on all fours until his back bumped up against the unyielding rock wall. He slumped against the stone, his head on his knees and his legs drawn up to his chest. He was unable to stop staring at the blood on his sword, unable to stop thinking about the blood of the villagers on the enemy's swords.

If he could not manage to protect the princess, could not even slay more than one of those monsters, then what hope did he have of saving the village? It was enough to make him wonder why he should get to live when others had fallen. This time, darkness had indeed defeated the light.

There was still a chance, however. It did not have to end like this. Evil would not triumph for long. The hero would always return to save the day. The three goddesses of the Triforce ensured that the world would always be balanced: evil would exist, but every time there was a threat, a new hero would emerge to save the Hyrule.

The boy wiped his eyes and stood. He walked back out of the cave, trying not to look at the dead Bokoblin or his bloodstained sword. Both drew his eyes towards them regardless. The youth sighed and felt the sooty air around him. He looked down from the cliff to the razed village, feeling fresh tears on his grimy face.

This time, he was not the hero. But next time, he would be ready to face any number of demons.

He whispered an apology to the Princess.

Then he jumped off the rock outcropping into the empty space above the waters of the lake.


End file.
